


hooked on her flesh, i lay my heart down with the rest at her feet

by magnetichearts



Series: kiss me on the mouth and set me free [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, but look, featuring plenty of sibling bonding between arya and sansa because that's my brand™️, jon and sansa literally hate each other until the second they meet, k anyways hope you like it, not a drop of angst, oh and my other fucking brand, ok maybe a drop but it's literally one singular one and is not even worth mentioning, this is literal fluff and written for y'all to go aww over, zero word count control™️
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23258194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: "I hate my soulmate!”Lyanna’s eyebrows raise. “Why, honey?”“Because I wanna see the sky, that’s why!” he complains. He looks at the ground and kicks his legs in the air. “It’s not fair that I don’t get to see it, and they’re just stuck without gray. Gray isn’t even, like, important. They’re probably not missing out on anything.”Sansa bursts into tears instantly. “Where’s my soulmate? Why is he taking so long? Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now? I thought that was how it worked!” She flings her arms around her father’s waist and buries her face in his jumper, sobbing.“Sansa,” Ned says, stroking her hair. “Sansa, there’s no set time for these things, sweetheart. It could years before you meet your soulmate, or it could be tomorrow. There’s no way to know for sure.”“But he’s my soulmate. Shouldn’t like, the universe or something know?”or; sansa and jon, and finding their way to each other[based on the idea that people can see all colors except the color of their soulmate's eyes](title from "angel of small death" by hozier)
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: kiss me on the mouth and set me free [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477814
Comments: 16
Kudos: 266





	hooked on her flesh, i lay my heart down with the rest at her feet

**Author's Note:**

> i just posted a 19k fic for another fandom and then decided i missed got, so i literally wrote this entire fic in one sitting from 12 am to 2:30 am, i don't even know how it got this long. 
> 
> basically, modern westeros, jon and sansa are soulmates who kinda hate each other because they wanna see color in the full spectrum, of course, right up until they meet each other, because in no universe is jon snow not _completely_ gone for sansa stark. 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy it, it's something very lighthearted and fun, just for y'all to enjoy while being stuck inside. this is what happens when i'm bored out of my mind/am procrastinating on my homework. i literally am exhausted and will pass out as soon as i post this. 
> 
> **again** : this will be included in my _kiss me on the mouth_ series because it is a game of thrones soulmate au, NOT a sequel to _i'm counting your heartbeats._

When Jon is 7 years old, he asks his mother, “Mum, why is the sky so boring?” 

His mother just looks at him, confused. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” 

“It’s never any color other than gray. It’s  _ lame.” _

Lyanna Snow brushes back a lock of black hair, and understanding dawns on her face. She pulls her son into her lap and runs her hand through his black curls, the exact same color as hers. “Jon, sweetie, do you know what a soulmate is?” 

Jon nods, far too serious for a little boy, but that’s her son, too serious for his own good. “Yes. It’s someone who you’re supposed to be with, for the rest of your life.” 

“That’s right, Jon. Well,  _ your _ soulmate has blue eyes. Sweetie, the sky is blue, but you can’t see it because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. When you meet your soulmate, you’ll be able to see the sky.” 

Jon’s silent, and his face is scrunched up in the familiar way Lyanna recognizes as deep thought. Her son, considering so deeply what other children would be disgusted by. “Is it beautiful? The sky?” 

It’s not the question Lyanna had been expecting, but she really shouldn’t be shocked. Her son is curious, is forever wondering. She bites her tongue, wondering if she should lie to him, but she doesn’t like lying to Jon, unless absolutely necessary. “Yes, Jon. It’s beautiful.” 

Jon’s face turns dark and stormy instantly, and he crosses his arms defiantly. “I  _ hate _ my soulmate!” 

Lyanna’s eyebrows raise. “Why, honey?” 

“Because I wanna see the sky, that’s why!” he complains. He looks at the ground and kicks his legs in the air. “It’s not fair that I don’t get to see it, and they’re just stuck without gray. Gray isn’t even, like, important. They’re probably not missing out on anything.” 

“Oh Jon.” Lyanna hugs him tightly. “They are, Jon. They’re missing out on meeting you. And it’s not your poor soulmate’s fault for having blue eyes. I promise you, you’ll meet them soon. And then you’ll get to see the sky.” 

* * *

Sansa is 8, and she cannot fathom, for the life of her, why the sky is always dark or blue. And sure, Sansa loves blue, adores it, but she’s waiting for something else to happen. The clouds always look creepy, black puffs of smoke hanging in the sky. 

Sansa kicks her shoe, scattering pebbles across the playground, and looks up into the sky once more. Was the sky ever gray? Was that why she couldn’t see it? 

When she was five, her parents had discovered her inability to see grey when she asked why Daddy and Arya had dark eyes while the rest of them had blue eyes. 

Sansa crosses her arms tightly under her jumper, gnawing on her lip. “Where are you?” she asks herself. Wasn’t he supposed to come soon, like some prince on a horse, like from the movies? After all, he was her  _ soulmate. _

“Sansa?” Her father rounds the corner. He notices the grumpy look on her face. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” 

Sansa bursts into tears instantly. “Where’s my soulmate? Why is he taking so long? Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now? I thought that was how it worked!” She flings her arms around her father’s waist and buries her face in his jumper, sobbing. 

“Sansa,” Ned says, stroking her hair. “Sansa, there’s no set time for these things, sweetheart. It could years before you meet your soulmate, or it could be tomorrow. There’s no way to know for sure.” 

“But he’s my  _ soulmate. _ Shouldn’t like, the universe or something know?” she asks, voice muffled by Ned’s shirt. 

“Sansa, he’s probably young. You’re not going to expect a little boy to come riding up on a horse, are you?” 

Sansa’s quiet, but now that her father says it, she does feel a little foolish. “No.” 

“And your mother and I aren’t soulmates, Sansa. You don’t need your soulmate to be happy, I promise you that,” Ned points out. 

“I know, Daddy. But I want it to work out for us. I want him to like me.” 

“I’m sure he’ll love you, Sansa. And if he doesn’t, I promise, I’ll search the whole world for a man worthy of you, ok? Someone brave, strong, and gentle.”

Sansa’s sobs slowly taper off, and she untangles herself from her father. “Ok.” 

* * *

Jon’s taken to wearing black. He can’t see blue, so might as well dress himself in colors that look appealing to him. And so what if it makes him look like he’s grieving? He doesn’t care about that. 

He runs a hand through his hair, staring at the sea. Ever since his mother had moved them to King’s Landing for her job the summer before his freshmen year, the sea was always there for him to watch. 

And he  _ hated _ it. 

Jon was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be this jaded at all of 17, but he doesn’t really care. There’s just so much grey here, the grey of the sea mixing and melting with the grey of the sky, and it’s nothing new. 

God, this color must be something spectacular, if it was good enough to color the ocean and the sky. He picks at the old wood on the bench he’s sitting on, ignoring the glint of the sea. Where  _ was _ she?  _ Who _ was she? 

He hears a noise from behind him, and turns around to see his mother climbing over some rocks to sit down next to him. She hands him a sandwich, which he unwraps and instantly takes a gigantic bite out of. 

Lyanna doesn’t, however, follow Jon’s horrendous eating habits. The summer breeze blows her hair in front of her face, the sun shines on her skin, and a small smile is playing on her lips as she looks out at the ocean. 

Jon swallows his huge bite, with some difficulty, and turns to his mother. “How beautiful is it?” he asks, and he can’t help it if his voice comes out as a bit bitter.

“It’s terrifying, Jon,” his mother answers. “It’s beautiful  _ because _ it’s terrifying.” 

Jon wrinkles his forehead. “How can something be both beautiful and terrifying?” 

Lyanna turns to him with sad eyes. “Oh, honey, I wish you could see. It’s not something I can describe. It’s—it’s about the endlessness of the ocean, the way the blue of the water gets deeper the further out you look. I don’t know how to tell you what it’s like.” 

“It’s fine, Mum,” Jon grumbles, taking another bite out of his sandwich. At this rate, he was never going to find his soulmate. 

“Jon, don’t get discouraged. I’m sure you’ll find her. I know it.” 

Jon just stares out at the sea, making no move to respond to his mother. She bumps her shoulder with his. “What about Winterfell U? What did they say?” 

Jon pushes his glasses up with his fingers. “I got in. Full ride.” 

Lyanna gasps. “Jon, that’s wonderful!” She throws her hands around her son and squeezes him tightly, so tight he almost can’t breathe. And despite his pretty foul attitude, he can’t help but smile. Winterfell University was his top choice, the best school in the North, and getting in on a full ride was nothing short of a miracle. Plus, Jon really wanted to go back North. He didn’t like it here, in King’s Landing. It was too hot for him, and it reminded him too much of exactly what he was missing out on. 

But as he pulls away from his mother and she starts talking about her day at work, Jon can’t help but stare at the waves crashing against the rocks against the small cliff, a few feet away from the bench. 

He could see the ocean deepen, see the beautiful white clouds, but only against gray, gray, gray. God, he was so tired of looking at gray, and so tired of seeing the world without blue. 

* * *

Sansa pulls a hair tie from her wrist and sweeps back her hair into a messy bun, bunching it on top of her head. God, it was hot in her room, and she couldn’t focus with sweat beading on the back of her neck as she was trying to finish her essay on Dorne’s continued independence from Westeros.

“Sansa!” Arya bounds into the room, a veritable ball of energy. “Did you see my judo bag?” 

Sansa shrugs. “No. Why are you asking me? You know I don’t want to go near any of that stuff.” 

Arya sticks her tongue out at her. “Excuse me for thinking you might be good at something. I’ll look for it myself.” 

Her 12 year old sister tears out of the room then, ignoring Sansa’s calls to shut her door, and Sansa presses her hands to her temples in frustration. She tries to turn her focus back to her essay on Dorne, but her mind inevitably drifts, and she picks up her phone to scroll through in boredom. Her fingers hover over Robb’s contact number, but he was away at orientation for Winterfell, and she didn’t want to bother him. 

Sansa chucks her phone to the other side of her bed and buries her head in her pillow, trying not to scream in frustration. Sure, lots of people would think grey was a great color to miss, because it wasn’t present in everyday life, except it  _ was. _ Everything Sansa saw seemed incomplete, unfinished, a button here or there colored black, swathes of color dark and out of place. 

Not to mention how creepy it was seeing light when the sky above you was pitch black and starless. 

Sansa’s over the fairytales, even at 15, because Harry’s a little shit who didn’t turn out anything like she thought he would, and frankly, she’s tired of trying. 

She rolls over and stares at the ceiling.  _ Brave, strong, and gentle, _ her father had said, but she was starting to doubt his words. Not the sincerity behind them, of course, but the idea that any man out there could be all three of those things. So far, she hadn’t met a single male beyond those in her immediate family who embodied any of those traits, and she wasn’t holding her breath. 

Arya runs in through the open door. “Ok, look, can I still look here? I can’t find it  _ anywhere.” _

“Sure,” Sansa says vacantly, still staring at the ceiling. “Do whatever you want.” This is bound to get a rise out of Arya, because Sansa normally hates people in her room, touching her stuff. She’s organized everything meticulously, unlike Arya’s room, which perpetually looks like a tornado had torn through it, and she hates anyone moving anything out of place.

To Sansa’s surprise, Arya doesn’t heckle her, but instead flops on top of her legs, causing Sansa to jerk up in shock. “What the hell, Arya?”

“You’re acting weird,” Arya says simply. “Why?”

“Why do you care?” Sansa asks bitterly, but instantly regrets the words as soon as they come out of her mouth. “Sorry. It’s just not a big deal.” 

“Harry?” Arya asks. “He’s a piece of shit, if you ask me.” 

“Agreed,” Sansa says morosely. “But no.” 

“Then what? It can’t be the essay on Dorne, you might hate homework, but it doesn’t make you weird like this. And Robb’ll be back soon.” 

Sansa turns to look at her sister, those black, black eyes that she wonders if she will ever truly see. “Arya,” she asks. “How would you describe the color of your eyes?” 

The question seems to startle Arya, but she just shoots Sansa a weird look. “I’m not sure. Mum says lots of people think grey is a sad color, but she thinks that it’s pretty. Reckon it’s because Dad and I have the same eye color, though.” 

Sansa nods. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“Oh, stuff it with that,” Arya says, waving her hand, and Sansa’s so shocked at her sister’s behavior she laughs. “You’ll find your soulmate, ok? And if he’s not great, who bloody cares? You’ve still got us.” 

“Great,” Sansa deadpans, but she’s smiling. Arya was right. If she spent her entire time wallowing over her soulmate and train wreck of a love life, she was never going to be able to  _ actually _ move on with her life. And besides, Sansa was more than just who her soulmate was. 

Unexpectedly, she reaches over and hugs Arya, tightly. “Thanks, Arya. I needed to hear that.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Arya says, returning the hug quickly before wrangling herself out of her sister’s grasp. “All in a day’s work, right? Don’t get too soppy on me.” 

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “I’m not soppy.” 

“Are too.”

“Are not.” Sansa picks up her pillow and smacks Arya with it. 

“Oh, it’s on,” Arya promises, picking up Sansa’s other pillow and hitting her back. Sansa bedroom fills with shrieks as they pummel each other, but she’s laughing so hard her stomach hurts, in a good way. Arya’s right. She’s always got them. 

* * *

“Mate, are you sure I’m not budging in?” Jon asks, for what feels like the thousandth time. 

Robb rolls his eyes. “Jon, if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to punch you, and then myself in the face. No, you’re not budging in. You said your mum was busy at work for the holidays, right?” 

Jon nods. “Then you come spend them with me and my family. Honestly, we've been friends for four years now. I don’t know how we’ve not spent the holidays together before.” 

Jon shrugs. He still remembers the first day he met Robb Stark, at Winterfell. 

_ “Hi, are you Jon Snow?” Jon looks up to see a redheaded boy with curly hair standing at the door, a backpack slung over his shoulder.  _

_ “That’s me.”  _

_ The boy strides forward, holding out his hand. “Robb Stark. I’m your roommate.” _

_ Jon grips Robb’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Robb.”  _

_ Now that Robb’s a little closer, Jon can see his eyes, grey, exactly like his own. “Bloody hell,” Robb says, leaning forward. “Your eyes look just like my dad’s.”  _

_ Now Jon’s confused, which, he admits, is a regular situation for him, but still, he doesn’t like it. “Not yours?” he stammers.  _

_ Robb laughs. “What’re you on about? My eyes are—Oh.” Understanding dawns on Robb quickly. “You can’t see blue, can you?”  _

_ Jon shrugs. “Nope.”  _

_ Robb drops his backpack on his dorm bed and sits on it, bouncing up and down. “Well, you’re not missing much.”  _

_ “What? Everyone’s been telling me I’m missing the best color in the world.”  _

_ Robb smirks. “It’s pretty, but it’s not the bloody Mona Lisa, for god’s sakes. Plus, we’re only 18. You’ll see it soon.” His eyes fall on the large Direwolves poster hanging next to Jon’s bunk. “You’re a Direwolves fan too?”  _

_ Jon smiles then. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Northmen don’t support any other team, do they?”  _

_ “Damn right.”  _

“Well,” Robb says, pulling Jon out of his memories, “I think that’s it.” 

Jon grabs his bag and slings his backpack over his shoulder, and Robb locks their apartment door behind them as they walk to his car. “So,” he says, “just to go over it again, Ned and Catelyn are your parents, and then there are your siblings, Arya, who’s 17, Bran, who’s 16, and Rickon, who’s 11.” 

“Don’t forget about Sansa,” Robb adds. “She’s a freshman at King’s Landing.” 

“You don’t talk about her as much as the other,” Jon says. “Why?” 

Robb chuckles, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Sansa, Sansa doesn’t  _ do _ wacky or crazy shit for me to talk about. She’s smart and quiet, and she likes baking and cooking. We’re pretty close, but she’s been getting closer with Arya over the past few years. Between the two of them, they run circles around the rest of us kids.” 

Jon can hear the affection in Robb’s voice, plain as day, and he’s only a little shocked at the sharp stab of jealousy he feels in his stomach. Not of  _ Robb, _ really, but of what Robb has. The only child of a single mom, who often worked constantly to make ends meet, Jon had it quite alone growing up, so the clear love between Robb and his siblings is new, something Jon’s never been privy to. 

The drive to Robb’s house is a short one, just over an hour, as the University was on one end of the city, and the Starks’ place was set more in the suburbs of Winterfell.

When they pull up to the house, however, Jon feels his mouth drop open. “Wow.” 

Robb smiles sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. That.” 

Jon knows Robb isn’t a scholarship student like him, but he doesn’t  _ act _ like a rich kid, doesn’t act pompous or pretentious, enough for Jon to think he’s anything other than a kid whose parents were able to afford for him to go to college. 

But if this veritable  _ mansion _ of a house is anything to go by, Robb  _ is _ a trust fund baby, and his family is loaded. 

Jon snaps his head over to glare at his best friend. “You kept this a secret from me? How did I not know you were rich?” 

Robb holds up a finger. “First of all, I didn’t keep it a  _ secret. _ It’s just not something I like to talk about, and if I did, my mother would kick me out of the house until I learned how to be polite. Secondly, my parents are rich, not me. Dad owns a company, and Mum’s partner at her law firm. Plus, a lot of it is inherited.” 

“Hope they’re ok with a blue-collar guy crashing their fancy party.” 

Robb frowns at him. “None of my family is like that. Both Mum and Dad lost their mums when they were young, and they spent a lot of time taking care of their families because of it. Trust me, they do not care if you’re not wealthy.” 

Jon does feel a  _ tad _ guilty, because Robb’s never treated him any differently throughout four years of friendship, and he’s found out a  _ lot _ about Jon, partly due to bonding, but also due to drunken speeches given on their couch at 2 am. 

Robb rings the doorbell, and it’s opened ten seconds later by a girl with short, chopped brown hair and wide, wide grey eyes. “Robb!” she says, and punches him on the shoulder. “What took you so long.” 

“Ow!” Robb says, stumbling back. “Bloody hell, you got more aggressive, didn’t you?” 

The girl, who Jon assumes to be Arya, given how Robb had described her, grins mischievously. “Can you blame me? I’m bloody  _ bored,  _ with only Bran and Rickon.” 

“I resent that,” a voice calls from inside. 

Arya’s eyes then fall to Jon. “And who’s this?” she grins, and Jon finds himself grinning back. There’s something about this girl he likes, and he’s not sure what it is, exactly, but he likes it. 

“This is Jon,” Robb says, clapping him on the shoulder. “He’s going to be spending Christmas with us.” 

Arya scans him from top to bottom, and there’s something in her gaze that makes Jon shift uncomfortably. He feels a lot better when she smiles at him, though. “Seems a bit decent.”

Jon steps forward and shakes Arya’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says. 

“Robb, you’re right,” Arya says instead of greeting him, pulling Jon closer by his hand. “It’s freaky how much his eyes look like Dad’s.” 

“Or yours,” Robb offers. 

Jon looks down at Arya. Before, he’d thought her blue-eyed like Robb, but now, looking at her closer, he can see the shade of grey in her eyes is deeper than the one in Robb’s, truer. 

“Come in,” Arya offers. “Meet the rest of the family.” 

“Is Sansa here yet?” Robb asks. 

Arya shakes her head. “Nope. Her flight doesn’t get in for a few more hours.” 

Jon follows Arya and Robb into the massive house, and through a literal fucking  _ foyer _ before they stop at the kitchen, where a redheaded boy sits at the kitchen table, glasses perched on his nose, and a redheaded woman is stirring the pot on the stove. 

“Robb!” The woman exclaims. She reaches out and hugs her son. “It’s so good to see you. You look wonderful. Glad to see you’ve been eating well. Excited to graduate?” 

Robb smiles. “Yes, Mum.” 

Robb’s mother then turns her attention to Jon, and even if he can’t see the color of her eyes, he feels her gaze on him like the sun. “And this must be the friend you were telling us about. Jon, right?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Jon says, sticking his hand out. “Jon Snow.” 

Catelyn waves her hand. “Please, call me Cat. We’re delighted to have you join us for the holidays. You’ve got that Northern look about you.” 

Jon nods. “Yes, ma’am. My mother and I are from the North, though not from Winterfell.” 

Catelyn nods. “Well, you’ve already met Arya. This is Bran.” She gestures to the boy sitting at the kitchen table, who raises his hand in greeting. “My husband and youngest son are currently out getting some more groceries, but they’ll be here soon.”

“Hello there, Jon,” Bran says. Jon recognizes it to be the voice who spoke earlier, and he raises his own hand. 

“Now, come on,” Catelyn says. “Take off those bulky coats and sit down. Have a snack. I want to know everything about your year.” 

Jon nervously sheds his jacket and chucks it over the back of his chair, settling next to Jon. He glances over and a picture of the Starks, altogether. He’s seen pictures of Sansa before, and so far, she’s the only Stark he doesn’t know when he’ll meet. 

Well, she’s just another person whose eye color he can’t see. He’s not very anxious about it.

* * *

Sansa shivers as she steps out of her taxicab, the cold air biting at her cheeks. After being in King’s Landing for the past few months, she’s not used to the Winterfell cold, but she tips her head back anyways and breathes in the fresh, North air. 

She’s missed it, still. Even if King’s Landing had the best pre-law program in the country, and the one her mother had attended, which was the only reason she picked it over Winterfell, it was such a crowded and busy city, nothing like Winterfell, which was crisp and clean. 

She’s missed the North, more than she knew. 

Sansa pays her taxi driver and rolls her suitcase up the steps of her family’s house. Her hands twist nervously as she waits on the doorstep, bouncing up and down slightly. She’s always nervous coming home. She’s missed her family, terribly, of course, but she’s sure to field a dozen questions from her parents about how her studies were going, and that wasn’t  _ exactly _ what she wanted. 

The door swings open, and Sansa finds herself nearly bowled over by an armful of little sister. “Sansa!” Arya says. “Finally. Fuck, I thought your pilot had gotten it into his head that you were headed to Dorne instead of Winterfell.” 

Arya releases her and steps back. “You look the same, though. Still wearing really delicate clothes.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes and ruffles Arya’s hair. “You call them delicate, I call them stylish.” 

“Po-ta-to, po-tah-to.” Arya waves her hand dismissively. “You’re the last one to arrive. Even Robb and his friend got here before you.” 

“Oh?” Sansa asks. She hadn’t known anyone else was staying with them. This was hardly a new occurrence, as for most of Sansa’s childhood, Robb’s friend, Theon, had lived with them, to escape a terrible home life, so she was used to people other than strictly Starks spending the hols with them. But Robb hadn’t mentioned anything about this friend to her. “Where are they? I’d like to say hello to Robb.” 

Arya shrugged. “I think Dad dragged the both of them out to the wood to chop down another Christmas tree for the parlor room, like, a small one.” 

Sansa steps into the warm house as Arya shuts the door behind her. Instantly, she feels the tension in her shoulders start to melt away, the familiar smells of the Stark house working wonders for her stress. “God, that smells good. I’m starving.” 

“Yeah, no wonder. You look like a skeleton.” 

“Arya!” their mother admonishes, walking into the room. “That’s not nice to say.” Catelyn smiles at Sansa. “Hi sweetling. It’s so nice to see you.” She gives Sansa a hug, but it doesn’t last as long as Sansa thought it would be, and she pulls back. “Arya, you might be right. Honey, you’re so thin. Why haven’t you been eating?” 

Sansa shakes her head. “I  _ have, _ Mom. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.” 

Catelyn smooths back Sansa’s hair and guides her into the kitchen. “Have some hot chocolate and we can talk about it.” 

Arya hops up on the seat next to her, grabbing her own mug. “Don’t lie, Sans. What’s going on?” 

Sansa pinches her nose. “Joffrey’s studying at King’s Landing with me.” 

The reaction from her family is instant. Catelyn’s face turns stormy, darker than Sansa’s ever seen it, and Arya swears. 

“I swear to god, if that fucker comes anywhere near you, I’m going to gut him.” 

“Arya,” Catelyn warns. 

“What, Mum!” Arya protests. “After he led Sansa on for six months and emotionally messed her up, I think he deserves a lot worse!”

“You can’t just say stuff like that, Arya,” Sansa says tiredly, but she appreciates the gesture. “And really, I’m fine. Our majors are so different, so it doesn’t even matter. We hardly cross paths. I only knew he was studying there because he went out with my friend for a bit.” 

A disgusted look crosses Arya’s face. “Please tell me she dumped him or you dumped her.” 

“She kicked him to the curb soundly,” Sansa assures, “once I told her what he did to me.”

Arya nods. “Good.” 

“Sweetling, are you sure you’re alright?” Catelyn’s face is creased with worry, but Sansa nods, placing her hand over her mum’s. 

“Yes, Mum, I’m fine. Just resigning myself to a life of spinsterhood.” 

“Oh, stop being dramatic, Sansa,” Arya says, rolling her eyes. “That’s Robb’s job. You’re 19. You’re hardly a spinster.” 

“Arya’s right. You’ll be fine, Sansa. Plus, you’re back home, so just take it easy for the next few days.” 

“Speaking of that, where the hell are Bran and Rickon? I haven’t even heard from them since I walked in?” 

“Bran’s Facetiming his girlfriend and Rickon’s playing some video game or another. They’ll both be down soon, you can say hello to them then.” 

Sansa raises her eyebrows at Arya. “Girlfriend?” 

Her sister smirks. “Meera Reed.” 

“So he likes them older, huh?” 

“That’s what I said!” Arya exclaims, and the two sisters start laughing. 

“Dear lord,” Catelyn mutters. “I’m going to call your father and see what’s taking him so long. It’s a tiny tree, after all.” 

Sansa clinks her ceramic mug with Arya’s and takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “So, how’s your life been going?” 

“Dead dull without you guys here.” 

“You literally keep saying that as if Rickon and I are dead.” Bran’s voice comes from behind them, and Sansa spins around to see her little brother walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. “You’re just crazy and nothing can keep you occupied.” 

“Touché.” 

“Hi Sansa.” She reaches over to give her little brother a hug, tucking his head under her chin. God, she’d missed them all more than she’d known. 

Catelyn walks back into the room. “Your father says they’ve entered through the back so they won’t get the dirt all over the carpet, and they’re setting it up in the parlor room now. They should be in soon.”

Sansa smirks. “This friend of Robb’s must be crazy to want to spend Christmas with a poor facsimile of  _ National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation’s _ crazy family.” 

“His name’s Jon,” Arya corrects, “and speak for yourself. I’m proud to be compared to a Christmas classic.” 

Ned chooses that moment to walk in, and he immediately envelops his older daughter in a massive hug. “Sansa, sweet, it’s so good to see you. How have you been?” 

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her, and Sansa smiles back at her father. “Good, Dad. Better now that I’m here.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. Everything good in King’s Landing?” 

She’s thankfully saved at having to respond to her father’s question by the boisterous and loud arrival of her brother. “Sansa!” Robb cries. “You’re finally here! Bloody hell, Arya thought you were in Dorne. I had my money on Essos, personally.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes, but hugs her brother fondly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think none of you  _ wanted _ me here.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we not make that clear?” Arya quips. “We don’t.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sansa laughs, while Robb guffaws behind her. “So, Robb, where’s this mystery friend of yours?” 

“Oh, he’s just hanging up his jacket. He couldn’t find a hanger, so he probably had to search for one. “Oi! Jon!” he calls. “Get in here, Sansa’s finally arrived.” 

“Bloody hell, Robb, I’m coming,” a voice calls. “I don’t see what’s the big—” 

Sansa’s never seen  _ that _ before. That right there, that color. She’s never seen that before, only heard about it. She’s never seen someone with such beautiful eyes. 

“Fuck,” Jon breathes, staring at her like she’s a goddess from heaven. 

Sansa can barely tear her eyes from his, but she forces herself to, looks at the shellshocked (and smirking, in Arya’s case) eyes of her family.  _ She can see the color of her sister’s eyes. _

Her eyes go back to Jon, who’s still gaping at her like a fish. In front of her whole fucking family (if Rickon’s confused voice in the background seals anything). Brilliant. 

Thankfully, her mother seems to realize what’s going on in a heartbeat, and she ushers everyone else out of the kitchen. “Come on, everyone. Let’s give them some space.” 

“No!” Arya protests. “But I was about to get some popcorn and everything! We’ve just proven Sansa’s ideas about spinsterhood wrong! This is the most interesting thing to happen here in  _ months.” _

“Arya,” Sansa says. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

Arya grumbles something about betrayal, but leaves with the rest of the family. Sansa’s still staring at Jon. God, what color was she missing out on? She spares a look at the sky, and pressed her hand to her mouth when she saw the clouds, no longer cartoonish looking, but beautiful. She returns her gaze back to Jon, but he’s fixated on the sky, and with a start, Sansa realizes this must be his first time truly seeing the sky. 

She swallows roughly and nervously picks at her nails, waiting for him to say something. 

When he does finally speak, he says something she’s not expecting him too. 

“I was so mad at you.” 

Sansa flushes bright red. “Excuse me?” 

Jon’s gaze snaps to her’s “Not—not like that,” he stammers. He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, I’m sorry, just, let me explain. I mean, look at that.” He gestures to the sky. “People would talk about how beautiful that was, how beautiful the ocean was, and all I could think about how mad I was that my soulmate had to have blue eyes, because I couldn’t see it.” 

Sansa softens. She supposes she can understand that. After all, she loved the sea, and the sky herself. And to be deprived of that, well, that would make anyone upset. 

“But,” he continues. “I’m glad that I wasn’t able to see the ocean.” 

Sansa furrows her eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because, your eyes are prettier than the ocean, a thousand times over. I’m glad I got to see blue in your eyes first.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s sure she’s passed out from lack of oxygen and hit her head, because she had to be hallucinating. A handsome man wasn’t standing in her kitchen, awkwardly but genuinely saying beautiful words about her. There was no way that was her life. 

Jon steps forward, and Sansa doesn’t move an inch. 

Her eyes stay locked with his. “Sansa,” Jon asks, raising a trembling hand to brush back a wayward lock of red hair. “Can I kiss you?” 

If it had been anyone else, Sansa would have said no. She would have told him that it was too soon, that his sweet words meant nothing, that they should take it slow. But there was something in her very soul that called to Jon, that trusted him, that ached for him. So, heart in her throat, she nods. 

He reaches his hands forward and curls them around her jaw, tipping her face upward. His thumbs stroke the peaks of her cheekbones, and her gaze drops to his mouth just as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

And then, slowly, so slow Sansa thinks she will combust before he actually kisses her, he lowers his mouth to hers, and when their lips finally do touch, something in her soul clicks into place, and ignites an inferno. 

As soon as she gets a taste of him, she wants more, and he feels the same way. She reaches a hand up into his hair and tugs him down, crushing his mouth more firmly to hers, and one of his hands leaves her jaw to dip down to her waist, pulling her flush against him. 

Fuck, Sansa feels like she’s on fire, the sure sweep of Jon’s tongue across the seam of her lips setting her ablaze, and when she opens her mouth, their tongues tangling, her blood only runs hotter. He sets her on fire, and invites her to dance amongst the flames with him.

She takes his lip in between her mouth and sucks, something he seems to like, if the groan he lets out is any sort of indication.

She feels Jon’s teeth just graze her lip before he bites on it lightly, then runs his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and  _ fuck _ that was hot. 

Jon’s nails scrape her skin as he tugs her closer, tilts his head to kiss her deeper, and Sansa’s head is positively spinning. No one else she’d been with had made her feel like this, like she was on a sensory high. When Jon’s lips touch hers, she can feel every cut on his slightly chapped lips, and even though she’s crushed against him as tightly as possible, he seems determined to tug her ever closer, and Sansa’s not complaining.

But, the rational part of her brain answers, if they didn’t break apart, they’d probably end up fucking on her mother’s nice granite table, and Sansa definitely did not want to do that. 

She lets herself indulge in Jon’s mouth for a moment more, kissing him harder and deeper, before she pulls away, panting. 

Jon blinks, a little dazed, and when her gaze falls to his lips, she feels a bolt of pride shoot through her when she sees them kiss-swollen.  _ She did that. _

“So,” Sansa says, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ears. “What now?” 

“Now?” Jon echoes. He’s still just staring at her weirdly, and Sansa’s worried he’s broken, but it only takes another second before a smirk is working its way onto his face. “Now we get to know each other. And maybe mess with Robb.” 

Sansa bursts out laughing. “Oh, I knew there must have been a reason we were soulmates.” 

Jon tugs her closer. “Yeah, not just because we’re great at kissing.” 

Sansa pretends to think about it, sliding her hands up his chest. “That too, maybe.” 

“Hmm,” he says. “I think I need to try again to figure that out. What do you think?” 

She wants to tell him that's a great plan, but the reply is lost in his lips. 

Oh well. She’s sure if their family walks in on them snogging like that, that’ll mess with Robb plenty.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me happier than arya with needle! please let me know what you thought about this fic! i'd love to hear your thoughts. you can also find me on tumblr: @[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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